English Weather and Sunny Days
by Namada K
Summary: All the fluffy, filler-y USxUK drabbles you can eat!
1. Weather

**Weather**

England loves America's weather. He always has.

There's just something so delectable about those clear blue skies that he rarely sees in his own country, that same shade of blue that matches America's eyes.

The sun is always so warm and welcoming here, almost closer somehow, and seemingly always shining. Even in the dead of winter England can feel it warming his skin. England doesn't even think the term "dead of winter" applies here in America, it's always so mild when he visits, no matter how much America may go on and on about all the blizzards and hurricanes he's had to endure over his few centuries of life.

The few times it's rained during his visits it's been the warm, summery sort.

Well, unless you counted that one time during the Revolution (which he didn't, goddammit, he wasn't going to dwell on that memory any more than he absolutely needed to.)

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America's always had a thing for rain.

Sunny days are awesome and all, but there's something so peaceful about rain. He especially loves sitting inside, all warm and cozy, while rain patters on the roof, watching it splatter the windows. On these occasions he likes pitting one raindrop against another, to see which reaches the bottom of the pane first.

He even enjoys being out and about in wet weather, whether he has an umbrella or not. Even driving in the rain is fun, as oftentimes doing so is considered dangerous, and danger to America always equated to excitement.

His few visits to London have been disappointingly sunny thus far, though he hopes to remedy this with his upcoming visit.

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Author's Note: Short intro to the drabble series, I know. Gotta love the drabble-y goodness!


	2. Lovehandles

**Love-handles**

"Alfred, you git, if you don't get out of the bathroom right this second, I swear on all that is holy—!" Arthur flung open the door to Alfred's hideyhole, only to reveal the American man on the scales yet again, anxiously squinting at the digital numbers. After a moment of staring his face crumpled in sadness and worry, and he genuinely looked like he might cry. He pinched his belly fat with both hands and stared accusingly at it, before putting said hands over his eyes.

Arthur coughed delicately from the doorway, interrupting Alfred's melodramatic moment. Alfred about jumped ten feet into the air, and spun around to see Arthur.

"Arty, you old coot, I didn't see you there!"

Arthur merely raised and impressive eyebrow before addressing his former colony. "Are you coming to bed, or do I have to drag you?"

"Yeah, yeah," chirped Alfred blithely. "I'll be there in a bit, you just go on without me!" Saying this, Alfred plastered on a grin that looked incredibly fake. Arthur sighed and bit the bullet.

"Alright, what's troubling you Alfred? Don't lie, I know something's worrying you." Arthur found it best to coax the oftentimes hysterical American into revealing his anxiety, rather than display his keen powers of deduction. It was obvious what was bothering Alfred, he just needed to vocalize it.

Alfred squirmed for a moment under Arthur's steady gaze, looking pained, like an ant under a magnifying glass. Finally he broke his silence, and blurted out "ImayhaveputonafewpoundsandnowIfeelfatandohGodyoumustfindmerepulsivelikethis!"

Arthur sighed yet again. Alfred could be so high maintenance; at times he felt like he was in a relationship with a _woman_, for crying out loud.

"You're not fat. Honestly, it's just a few pounds."

"That's how it always starts," muttered Alfred darkly. "At first it's just a couple of pounds, no big deal, then, next thing you know you've got tits and can't see your own junk and Dr. Phil's hiring a construction company to get you out of your own home!"

Arthur could only blink in shock for a moment or two, before letting out a low chuckle. "Okay, no more daytime television for you! Alfred, you're making a mountain out of molehill, do you realize that?"

Alfred let out a moan of frustration. "Honestly Arthur, I'm a **cow**! I don't know how you can stand to look at me, I'm so out of shape. I mean, look at this!" He lifted his hands up to his sides, until he found what he was looking for.

"Love-handles," he stated in a flat monotone. "I have freaking love-handles." He squeezed them for emphasis.

Arthur stared unabashedly at Alfred, eyes taking in this new development as well as everything else laid bare to him, as Alfred was entirely nude (he had obviously not wanted a single ounce of clothing to throw off the scale in any way). Finally, he spoke.

"One: I don't know how many times we have to go over this, muscle weighs more than fat, and we've already established your freakish strength," Arthur paused to waggle his bushy eyebrows in a highly suggestive manner, causing Alfred to blush uncharacteristically. "Two: for some odd reason I find myself smitten with you, for better or worse, so I find you sexy no matter how you may look,"Alfred managed a sappy smile, which he directed at his English companion, who tried his hardest not to smile back. "And three: you know why they're called _love-_handles?"

Arthur stepped in close to his lover, replaced Alfred's hands on his sides with his own, and pulled him in for a deep, sweet kiss.

After a solid minute Alfred wrenched his lips away from Arthur's hungry ones and whispered in his ear "Show me?"

Arthur happily obliged.

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Author's Note: Augh, why so fail, self?

Part two in an ongoing drabble series featuring my OTP. Reviews are 3


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